


Paths Not Taken

by glacis



Category: General Hospital
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU set in 1998, a few months after Brenda's death, a year after Lois has left Ned for the final time, where Jerry, John and Jax didn't get arrested by the Feds for laundering drug money and Eddie Maine is thriving even as Ned Ashton is slowly falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paths Not Taken

Paths Not Taken

 

He couldn't believe she was gone. It had only been three months, and he swore every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the car going over the side. An instant, and his beautiful, tormented Brenda was gone.

Jax spent most of his time in a daze ever since he'd lost the light in his life, after fighting so damned hard to get her. Nothing really intruded on the shadows, not his family, not his business commitments, nothing. Oddly enough, the only voice he really heard was Ned Ashton's, of all people. Perhaps not so oddly.

Ned had loved Brenda, too.

Not as Jax had loved her. As a close friend, a surrogate sister. But Ned was hurting, and Jax could understand that at a level nobody else approached. Even that wasn't quite enough to form any sort of real connection. He wasn't sure he could _make_ a connection with anyone, anymore, on any level where it counted. Brenda's death had ripped something open inside him, and it was bleeding, seeping out his life's blood through an invisible wound. He could do nothing to stop it.

All he could do was sit, and watch shadows, and try very hard not to think.

 

Ned stared at the phone for what felt like at least an hour, but couldn't have been nearly that long. When the tinny voice demanded that he hang up and dial again, he shook himself out of his momentary paralysis and cradled the handset with all the care one might use replacing the pin in a live grenade.

Brooke was doing very nicely, just celebrated her second birthday. The whole contingent in Bensonhurst was well and happy. Mom had broken her wrist but Dad was using it as an excuse to coddle her, and the brothers were dating, getting jobs, fixing up cars, going to games, moving out, moving back. Life as usual in Brooklyn, a universe away from Port Charles.

Oh, and by the way, Brooke didn't call him Daddy.

That privilege belonged to a faceless man with no name, since Lois was hesitant to even tell him she'd fallen in love with someone else, much less give Ned any clue to his identity. God only knew what Ned might do. Use the Quartermaine quadrillions to hunt him down and kill him, maybe.

Not that she'd said that.

She didn't have to.

It was clear as crystal in all the things she didn't say.

The shattering of glass against the far wall brought half the household tearing into the room. Emily looked at him, looked at what had moments before been quite a fine crystal decanter of port, and grinned.

"Stocks dip, Ned?"

He didn't even look at her.

"Ned?"

Monica's voice. He didn't look at her, either. There was a numbness growing in him.

No chance. Ever again. It was over. Over.

"What's over, Ned?" Monica again, very gently this time. Ned finally forced himself to look at her. Whatever she saw in her face must have frightened her, because she moved toward him, one hand outstretched. He backed away.

A corner of his mind mocked him at his retreat. What did he think would happen if she touched him? That he would shatter, like that glass?

Edward came into the room behind the women, and stared around, eyes darting from Monica, to the liquid and glass fragments spread across the wall, to Ned.

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on here?" he barked. Monica moved as if to answer him, and Ned cut her off, brushing past her on his way to the door.

"No," he said simply.

He didn't stop until he got outside. Once there, he wasn't sure what to do next. AJ came around the corner of the house and started up the steps toward him. As soon as he opened his mouth, Ned was galvanized into action. In the opposite direction, toward the garages. If AJ had made one smart remark Ned would have beaten the crap out of him just for the sheer joy of punching something.

Ned knew he was on thin ice, emotionally, even as he could feel that ice growing inside him. He'd been there before.

Every time he'd ever loved anyone.

So he would do what he did every time he was persuaded to drop the armor and give his heart to someone else, and they spat on it and stomped on it. He went to work.

 

It should have been so easy. His brother always had it easy, why couldn't it be easy for him? Jerry looked at the books one more time, and gritted his teeth.

Not this time. This time he _was_ going to get the golden egg. Devil take the hindmost, and to hell with the lot of them. No one would ever know, and if they did, he'd have enough money to get so far away they'd never find him. Not this time.

 

The next month was a living nightmare. Ned didn't talk to anyone, unless it was directly related to business. He spent ten hours a day at his office at ELQ, making deals, orchestrating takeovers, overseeing a year's worth of major projects in a few weeks. He seemed to have the Midas touch. Edward was crowing. AJ was glowering. Alan was watching. Monica was worried.

Ned didn't notice any of them.

After leaving the office, he went directly to the studio, spending another eight to ten hours there working on the new CD. There were concerts to book, lyrics to write, songs to polish. The band wasn't kicking -- they were getting paid double time, and the studio was all theirs. Besides, they were used to sleeping all day and rocking all night.

Ned didn't sleep.

Not much, anyway. He was getting by well enough on the three hours or so he was able to force himself to lay down. He wasn't eating much, either, but then he wasn't particularly hungry. Monica had tried, once, to get him to take better care of himself. He'd snarled at her that she wasn't his wife, or his mother, and to get the hell out of his face. Then he'd left the room, not even noticing how stricken she'd looked. Two days later he'd seen her again, and she'd been gentle with him. Too gentle, as if he was fragile, would break if anyone handled him carelessly.

That's when he knew she'd called Lois.

He stopped talking to anyone in the house at that point, and spent all his time either at the office, the studio, or at gigs. ELQ stock rocketed up. Quarterly earnings took a huge shot in the arm. The band got nearly half the tracks on the new CD laid, in between gigs from Boston to Philly. Soho was as close as they got to Brooklyn. He didn't go over the Bridge.

Eddie Maine was on fire.

Ned Ashton was encased in ice.

Everyone benefited.

He didn't notice.

 

Jax couldn't take many more concerned visitors. Working from his home wasn't a good excuse -- everyone who knew him knew he wasn't getting any work done. It was difficult to get excited about corporate manipulations when he couldn't keep a thought in his head for five minutes straight. He couldn't go downtown -- same problem. Everyone wanted to talk about Brenda, and no one knew what to say.

He wished they wouldn't say anything. Nothing would help, anyway.

Feeling the need to move, he shrugged into his jacket, clicked the answering machine on, locked the door behind him and watched his feet move. He didn't realize they were heading for the Backstage until he was actually at the club. Even from the street, he could feel the music. He watched his feet, let them decide for him. They followed the music.

At least with the rhythm pounding in his head he couldn't hear his thoughts. That was a relief.

Ned was playing. He'd forgotten, or hadn't noticed, or never knew. But Ned was up on stage in his Eddie Maine persona, all sweat-soaked white shirt flapping open and black leather pants painted on, strutting, swaying, screaming into the microphone, then dropping to a whisper, so clear Jax could swear he heard the audience's heartbeats. Then the wail again.

Pure, unadulterated pain, with melody, harmony, rocking guitar and a relentless beat. Whatever had been happening to Ned lately, his music was all the better for it.

Jax leaned against the back wall, absorbing the energy pouring off the stage. Ned shone under the lights, sweat sparkling in his hair, all liquid dark eyes and crying mouth and quivering body. The music beat at Jax, demanding response. Demanding agreement. Demanding understanding.

Getting every ounce of heartache in return for that demand.

For the first time since he'd understood that Brenda was really gone, Jax felt something. Truly felt it.

Anguish.

The thought struck him from out of the blue. Brenda had loved this. Had loved the whole music scene, setting up the concerts, being in on the creativity from the inception all the way through to the finished product. She and Ned had shared something special from the beginning of Ned's musical career, from the 'birth' of Eddie Maine, and she'd turned that something special into L &amp; B. She, and Lois, and Ned, and Miguel. Now Miguel was gone. Lois was gone. Brenda was dead.

All that was left was Ned.

No wonder there was so much pain rolling around him. Surrounding and suffocating him. Jax felt a connection he hadn't felt, ever before, with Ned Ashton. Ned knew. Ned might be the only one who knew. Sonny didn't count. Sonny was nothing. But Ned had loved Brenda. Ned had loved Lois, and Lois was gone, just as Brenda was gone.

Burst of wild applause, yelling and clapping and howling all around him, broke into his thoughts, and he realized the concert was over. He waited just long enough to make sure there weren't going to be any curtain calls, then ducked back outside and around to the stage door. For the first time since Brenda's death, Jax actually wanted to talk. Maybe he'd found someone who could actually listen.

He was nearly to the door when it opened and a dim light spread out into the alley. Jax pulled up, caution inbred whenever he was alone in an alley behind a bar at two in the morning. A shadow glided out through the door, then stumbled, catching itself by a hand then sinking against the brick wall. The door swung shut and Jax's eyes adjusted to the near-darkness again.

It was Ned, looking like he'd been hit by a truck. Jax hadn't thought just how much energy must be expended in a show like the one Ned put on, but judging by the looks of the man, it was more than was currently available. Away from the lights, makeup scrubbed off, it was obvious even to Jax that Ned had lost weight. There were shadows under his eyes, and he looked to be close to out on his feet. It made Jax tired just to look at him.

Speaking softly, not wanting to startle him, Jax asked, "Ned? You alright, mate?"

Ned's head came up, and he stared through the darkness at Jax as if he'd forgotten how to speak. When he did finally answer, his voice sounded rusty. Probably the singing, Jax shrugged internally.

"Yeah. Okay."

He didn't look it.

"Ready to call it a night?" Jax was feeling oddly protective. Maybe he was channeling Brenda. He didn't know, and didn't examine it too closely. It was enough that he was noticing something other than the shadows on his walls.

"Don't want to go home." Ned laughed, a surprisingly bitter little sound. Leaning his head back against the wall, he stared up as if looking for the stars. Jax glanced up, but knew it was a lost cause. They were too much in the city to see anything up there. Too many lights surrounded them. Whatever Ned was seeing, it wasn't anything Jax could see.

Impulsively, not wanting to face the silence himself, he offered, "How about my place?" My, not our. Nobody else, not any longer. Jax kept the thought to himself and concentrated on Ned. It was safer that way.

Ned finally stopped staring up at nothing and looked over at Jax. Eventually, he sighed. "Yeah. Sure. Why not." He straightened up, but it took him a long time to step away from the wall. When he did, his balance gave and he staggered again. Jax caught him up. Ned stiffened. Jax held him just long enough for him to regain his balance, then carefully took a step back.

After a moment, Ned followed.

It wasn't a very long walk, but it was an utterly silent one. Jax felt less tired than he had in a long time, but he could practically feel the fatigue rolling off Ned. Ned wasn't offering anything in the way of conversation. Funnily enough, and not in a humorous way, now that Jax had found someone he could talk to, he couldn't think of anything to say.

The silence continued in the elevator. Ned leaned against the wall, staring at the doors. Jax leaned back in the corner, ostensibly staring at the doors, but sneaking several glances at Ned. The other man was standing still, posture relaxed, but it was just that, a pose. Energy vibrated through him, even as exhausted as he was. Jax found himself responding to it, pulled toward it, shaken out of the pit of inattention he'd been in for the last several weeks. Ned had been Brenda's friend. She would want Jax to look after him. If Ned would let him.

The elevator stopped and they plodded to Jax's penthouse. The sound of the bolt in the door was very loud in the stillness of the living room. The only other sounds were the subdued whoosh of the heater and a clock ticking somewhere further back in the apartment. Jax tossed his jacket on the back of a chair and gestured at the sofa.

"Make yourself comfortable. Drink?"

Ned nodded, sitting on the end of the sofa but not still saying anything. Jax poured them both Scotch, handing the crystal glass to Ned before sinking down on the other end of the sofa. Ned stared into his drink.

Jax went back to staring at the shadows on the wall.

"She really loved the music, you know," he finally said, when the silence had taken on a weight of its own, leaving him buried in the middle of it. Ned jumped a little, startled. Jax smiled an apology, and Ned finally looked up from his glass in time to see it.

"Yeah. She had a head for the business, too," he smiled back. There were shadows behind that smile, as real and as dark as the shadows Jax had been studying for days. The innocuous remark seemed to breach the dam of silence, and Ned started talking. About the early days. Singing on a dare. Trying to buy up every CD in the first run, so nobody in Port Charles would figure out that Eddie Maine and Ned Ashton were one and the same. Running into Brenda in a music store, and the conspiracy that developed from there. Laughter, and plots, and friendship, and secrets kept between friends until they threatened the very friendships they were bound to protect.

The memories started out funny, and ironic, and loving. As they continued, they grew convoluted, and Jax learned about a lot of things he'd missed, things that had happened before he'd come on the scene. He quietly encouraged Ned's meandering with a few well placed questions, and heard more of Katherine Bell's schemes, and Tracie Quartermaine's hatred. AJ Quartermaine's stupidity, and Lois Cerullo Ashton's bravery. Brenda's friendship with Lois, and how Ned's lies, not to mention his family, had managed to destroy it all.

By the end of the narrative, Ned had finished his Scotch, and several refills. He was pacing the room like a caged wildcat, energy practically steaming off him. Jax saw, for the first time, really, just what Brenda had seen in him. More potential to be a real human than had ever had the chance to develop. It sparkled from him, along with the anger, at himself, at Lois for leaving, at never having the chance to be the father his own had never been, at Tracie for driving away anyone good who'd ever had anything to do with him, at Brenda for dying ...

Jax was moving before he knew it. Too much anger, out of control. Too much like a mirror to his own feelings, his own anguish. Too many of the same losses. Too close to the surface, and something snapped. Jax had Ned pinned up against the wall, using every one of his five inches of height and thirty pounds of weight advantage to intimidate Ned into shutting up. They were both breathing hard, both tense as trip-wires. Both much too close to breaking. Jax didn't know whether to kill him or kiss him.

Thought was father to deed, and his hand went around Ned's throat, whether to silence him or throttle him, Jax wasn't sure himself. Then his head was moving, and his mouth was open, and he was kissing Ned Ashton before he realized what he was doing.

Somewhere, he just knew it, Brenda was laughing herself sick right about now.

Then he stopped thinking completely and just kept moving.

****

Ned's world did a three sixty. One minute he was speeding around Jax's living room, purging every degree of crap that had happened to him in the last thirty years and most especially the last three. Then without warning he was suddenly splayed against the wall, held in place by Jax's body like a bug pinned to a board by a ... well, a wall, from the size of him.

In that instant, all the nerves, all the pain, all the pent up energy he hadn't been able to expend working twenty hours a day exploded out of him like a bomb going off. He went from so angry he couldn't see straight to so turned on he couldn't see at all. It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked a man since he'd been a teenager, when the only marketable commodity he'd had was his body, and it went to the highest bidder. It didn't even matter that that fact, and the revelations caused by it, of his relationship for pay with Monica, had hastened the final split with Lois. It most certainly didn't matter that it wasn't Lois devouring him.

If anything, it _helped_ that it wasn't Lois.

That it wasn't a woman at all.

Every time he'd been gutted emotionally, it had been by a woman. None of the men had mattered enough. None of the men in his life now had that kind of power over him. Not anymore.

Then Jax's tongue forced its way into his mouth, and he instinctively sucked on it. Pinpricks of light pinwheeled behind his eyelids, and his hands clenched, pulling Jax close enough to qualify as a human blanket. Ned stopped thinking completely.

Not close enough.

He wriggled, and Jax reacted by crushing him even tighter to the wall. Ned could feel an impressive erection digging into his stomach, and abruptly, hunger drove every other impulse from him. He growled, low and loud, deep in his throat. That caused Jax to back off just enough for Ned to get a hand between them.

"No?" Jax asked, eyes pinning him as effectively as those big hands had done.

"Anything but," Ned answered, using his free hand to rip Jax's shirt efficiently from neckline to hemline.

Jax grinned, a feral expression Ned could feel mirrored on his own face. They got to work on one another's clothes, tearing when buttons didn't give fast enough, balancing one another as shoes and socks and belts and shirts made a trail to the bedroom. When they arrived at the side of the bed, Jax tumbled Ned down onto it. The only thing left on Ned's body was tight leather pants. For an instant, he flashed back to the night Lois had bought them for him. She'd unzipped them.

With her teeth.

He looked up at Jax, wanting to ask him to use his hands, wanting to take them off himself, unable to move when he saw the strange look on Jax's face. He licked his lips, and shifted his hips. He was hard, so hard he was aching, and one way or another the leather wasn't going to stretch much further.

Then Jax moved. He jumped lightly onto the bed, landing over Ned, crouched with arms and legs on either side of him. Ned heard him say something, it sounded like "not her" but he couldn't be sure. Then those big, warm hands were on him, on the pants, easing him out, easing them down. Jax stripped them off, following their passage with his hands, his mouth, exploring Ned thoroughly as he was exposed.

It was a good thing Ned had given up thinking. It wouldn't have done him any good, given that every synapse in his brain was firing randomly, and that neurons were melting at an astronomical rate. By the time Jax pinned Ned's wrists to his sides and put his mouth over Ned's erection, Ned was flying.

Apparently it wasn't Jax's first time, either, by a long shot. He took his time making Ned as crazy as possible before engulfing him down to the root. When he got him all the way down his throat, Jax started swallowing rhythmically. It was amazingly intense. Then, just to up the ante a little and see if he could make Ned's brain literally explode ... he started humming.

That's all it took. Ned screamed, a full throated roar that made all the previous moaning and begging seem pitiful by comparison. He bucked hard against the hands holding him, not caring and not knowing whether he was gagging Jax, completely out of control. Happily, Jax had enough for both of them, and Ned was able to fall to pieces in relative safety.

It felt so amazingly good to lose control. Ned whispered, "Yes. Yes. C'mon," as Jax moved up his body, kissing, soothing, rubbing the trembling away from the exhausted muscles. By the time Jax's mouth covered his again, Ned was nearly melted into the linens. It took no effort at all for Jax to lift his legs, a hand under each knee. Open him, shift against him, stretch him, fill him.

Ned groaned, a low, pained sound, as Jax settled into a steady rhythm, moving against and into him. It had been a long time since anyone had fucked him like that, over ten years, and it took some adjusting. The mind-blowing orgasm had helped, and Jax was taking care with him. That also helped. Ned unburied his face from its hiding place against Jax's chest, and looked up at the tense face above him. Jax's eyes were closed.

There were traces of tears on his cheeks.

Ned felt his heart clench, along with the rest of his muscles. There had to be some release here for both of them. Maybe not healing. It was too close, and too deep, for that. But something different. Something new. Something that wasn't rooted in the past, wasn't based on pain. Something that was a world apart. Just the two of them. Nothing, and no one, else.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice steady and strong. Jax faltered in his thrusting, and Ned thrust upward himself, keeping the rhythm even. "Look at me," he said again, more insistently. Jax stilled completely, but opened his eyes and looked down at Ned's face.

"Fuck me." Not her. Nobody else. Not here. Not now. So much unsaid. All of it understood, in that one sharp, fierce command.

Ned saw something break open in Jax's eyes and nearly closed his own in response. But he couldn't. He could give no less than what he demanded. So he kept his own eyes opened, kept them locked on Jax as Jax began to move again. Kept them open as his cock firmed again, kept them open as his mouth fell open and he began to moan. Kept them open as Jax's hand came down and began to pump him in counter-rhythm to the movements within him. Kept them open even as he came a second time, as Jax continued to fuck him through his orgasm, as he felt Jax finally fall into his own climax.

Kept them open as Jax curled around him, buried his face in Ned's neck, and fell asleep. Kept them open, and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered if somewhere, somehow, Brenda knew about this.

And was laughing. And applauding.

He wouldn't put it past her.

The next morning came sooner than he expected, and for once, he wasn't awake to see it. The shifting of the bed around him woke him, and he rolled over, into Jax. He froze. Jax was staring at him.

He didn't look hostile. Looked kind of ... relaxed, actually. Ned blinked.

"You alright?" Jax asked, a faint echo of the night before in the alley. Ned thought about it for a minute, nodding before he realized that he'd made up his mind.

"I think so. Thanks," he added, almost an afterthought, then smiled a little sadly. Not giving himself time to think, he reached up, buried his hand in Jax's hair and pulled him down into a long, thorough kiss.

Jax didn't hesitate to participate. Fully.

When they finally broke for air, Ned looked up at him, asking a silent question. Jax nodded, leaning forward to press a light, chaste kiss on Ned's lips. "Any time, mate," he said, very quietly. Ned found himself nodding in response.

"Yeah," he answered, just as quietly. Then he gently disentangled himself from Jax, gathered what was left of his clothing, dressed in silence, and left the penthouse apartment.

Jax watched him all the way out the door. Ned could feel it.

 

The next time they met again with all their clothes on was ... strange. They were on opposite sides of a land deal, Jax playing devil's advocate, Ned going for the throat on behalf of ELQ. They cut one another to shreds verbally, with the skill and ease of long practice.

That night, the sex was hotter than the first time.

It wasn't the first time Ned had lived a double life. Jax either, for that matter. It was almost second nature to both men by this time in their lives. It felt natural. Necessary.

Like breathing.

Ned started sleeping again.

Jax took an interest in the world beyond his living room wall.

They started to heal, inch at a time.

More meetings followed. A stock deal leveraged through one of Jax's raided corporations, more blood-letting on the business front, followed by a stolen weekend at a secluded lodge in the woods upstate. A summons to appear in front of a judge, complaints by a local environmental group, Ned on the side of the Greens for a change, and Jax on the side of Big Business. It served ELQ's interest. It was good press. It was another occasion of public enmity and private passion.

Soon, it wasn't simply a buddy fuck between two men who weren't actually buddies. It wasn't sympathy sex between two men who were too alike to ever be great friends. It wasn't bonding over lost love.

It was an addiction. Craved for its own sake.

Taken in the dark, whenever the need became too great to deny.

Neither would admit it.

Neither could stop.

Four months of coordinated madness later, they met by accident in the Port Charles Grill. Lucy Coe was trying to interest Ned in yet another hare-brained scheme. The usual. Ned was listening with half an ear, arranging a new song with half his attention, mind going at warp speed behind the bland 'listening attentively if not actually buying' expression on his face. Then a tall figure came through the side door, turned to wave to someone as he walked in. The sunlight played around the strong legs, the broad shoulders, glinted off the bright hair.

Every thought in Ned's head flew out the window. All he could think of was clutching at those shoulders. Feeling those legs moving between his thighs. Winding his hands in that soft, thick hair while that amazingly talented mouth drove him into the stratosphere.

"My god, Ned, whoever she is, keep her."

Ned wrenched his attention back to the here and now. "Pardon?" he asked Lucy with a charming smile. She was craning her neck, looking around her with avid interest for whomever had caught Ned's eye. "I'm sorry, I was distracted, What did you say, Lucy?"

She turned back around to face him, a wide, wicked smile on her face. "I said, whoever she is, keep her."

Ned gave her a completely uncomprehending expression, carefully hiding his panic. Lucy was a flake, but a very perceptive one, especially when it came to sex and scandal. "She?"

"Whoever put that look on your face. You looked like you just got loved into another plane of existence."

She had no idea how right she was. "Sorry, I was thinking about business," he lied smoothly. She actually bought it, which said something about her gullibility or his acting ability. Or both.

"Money." She brightened. "I can understand that." She launched back into her pitch, and Ned screened her back out again. Glancing around the room unobtrusively, he felt himself literally lurch to a stop when his eyes collided with Jax's, who was sitting at the bar. Luckily, Lucy was too deeply into her rose colored dreams to notice.

Jax just looked at him. Ned looked back. Message received and understood. Rendezvous proposed and accepted. In less than the space of time it took to think it.

Ned smiled, nodded absently at the waiter, and settled into his chair, gazing attentively at poor Lucy, still nattering on. A slow burn of anticipation began deep in his stomach.

It wasn't love. But it would do.

Might even be better.

 

Jax wasn't sure, not for the first time in his life, what the hell he was doing. Fucking Ned Ashton was madness. It was also satiation at the cellular level. The fighting between them had a fine, sharp edge, and he found himself exhilarated by it, thriving on their competition in the business world, soaking up the energy of the music at night.

Fighting the urge to touch Ned every time he saw him.

It wasn't love. He didn't think he _could_ love. His heart had been taken from him when his wife had been taken from him. But it was something compelling. He didn't want to risk looking too closely, for fear it would disappear if he did.

He left the Port Charles Grill with a sense of anticipation. Always before, their coupling had been under cover of darkness, usually after one of Ned's performances as Eddie Maine, covered in sweat and excitement and quivering energy, poured into black leather and thin cotton. Sometimes after a particularly fierce business battle, adrenaline running strong in both of them. A discreet knock on the door, late at night, in the small hours of the morning, followed by groping and kissing and humping from the door to the bed. Often, they didn't make it past the foyer.

This time was different. There was something daring about meeting one's lover in the middle of the afternoon, when all the world was going about its business. An air of playing hooky, in the most adult way possible, a tinge of 'getting away with it', whatever 'it' might be. A sense of breaking the rules.

He found himself anxious to see Ned's body in full light. He didn't have long to wait.

The bell rang as he was pouring the second flute of champagne. He opened the door. Ned stared up at him. Jax smiled, a wry, knowing smirk, then swept his hand in a gesture of welcome. Ned smirked back at him.

Closing and bolting the door, Jax turned and leaned against it. Ned had made his way to the bar and was holding both glasses. "Special occasion?" he asked, holding one glass up so that the sunlight could sparkle through the light gold of the wine.

"Take your clothes off," Jax responded. God, his voice was rough. Deep, as if it was coming from his toes. Ned responded immediately, eyes widening and darkening, a barely perceptible tremble in his hands as he lowered the glasses to the polished wooden counter.

"Here?" Playfulness covering need. Jax ignored the first and focused on the second. Desire was too strong in him for games. He crossed the floor in three strides, pressing Ned up against the bar.

"Yes," he whispered into Ned's mouth as his arms wrapped around the smaller man. Then the world narrowed to the wet heat of Ned's tongue playing over his lips, darting into his mouth. Their hands clashed as they fought to strip one another, and their blood heated too fast for complete attention to detail.

In a very short time, Jax had Ned's trousers open and pooled around his ankles, his boxers tangled below his knees, his tie and jacket long gone, his shirt open all the way down. With applied effort and Ned's willing cooperation, Jax swung him up onto the bar. With single-minded concentration, he traced every square inch of flesh he could reach. Beginning of beard shadow, deep dimples, full mouth. A nibbling trail along the creamy white skin down the side of Ned's throat, a side trip to explore the hollows of his collarbone.

Jax nuzzled through the soft curls of ebony hair along Ned's chest, seeking out and tormenting each nipple then trailing along the trembling muscles of his ribs, his stomach, ignoring his erection to nip at the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. His hands were just as busy, tracing patterns along Ned's arms, following the tensely outlined muscles as Ned fought to stay still, to not fall off the bar as Jax feasted on him. Muffled curses and encouragement drifted over Jax's head, bitten off between clenched teeth as Ned did his best not to scream and alert the neighbors. Jax appreciated the effort, and did everything in his power to make it a moot one.

He loved doing this to Ned. Taking the fierce, bright, cynical bastard who was Ashton and turning him into a mindless mass of thrashing need. It was an incredible turn-on. It helped that Ned liked to do the exact same thing to him, at every opportunity. Turnabout wasn't just fair play -- it was a hell of a lot of fun.

Jax finally allowed himself to concentrate on the hot, dripping cock nudging him in the cheek. He spent some minutes mouthing Ned's balls, slipping them into and out of his mouth, rolling them on his tongue. Ned was writhing uncontrollably now, and Jax pinned him to the bar with a forearm across his midriff. Wouldn't do for him to fall off now -- broken bones would really break the mood.

When Ned's cock was pointing straight up to the ceiling and drooling steadily, as steadily as the moaning coming from Ned's throat, Jax took pity on him and sucked just the head of the cock into his mouth. Licking around it like an ice cream cone on a hot day, he pumped the slick shaft with his free hand, keeping up an unrelenting pace. It didn't take long for the balls under his chin to draw up. With one last lick and a fast, hard pumping action, he brought Ned off, letting go his hold on Ned's stomach to cup his hand over the spitting head of the cock.

Post-orgasm, Ned relaxed into a jellyfish, and Jax loved to take advantage of those moments of complete relaxation. Easing Ned off the counter, turning and draping him over the rounded edge of the bar, he slipped between Ned's thighs. Spread his ass cheeks. Entered him in one strong move.

Even half-conscious from a mind-blowing climax, Ned moaned. Jax went deep, so deep he literally raised Ned off the ground with each upward thrust. The feeling was unlike anything Jax had ever gotten from a woman, tighter, even as relaxed as Ned was, hotter, with tiny spasms running the length of the channel like little fingers squeezing his cock -- the afterquakes of Ned's orgasm. It didn't take long for Jax to come, on the edge as he was from the illicitness of sex with this man in broad daylight and the exuberant response of Ned's body to his ministrations.

Jax thrust all the way in and froze, his hands clamping down on Ned's hips, holding Ned in place against the bar, every ounce of Ned's weight against him as Ned's feet weren't touching the floor. Then Jax convulsed, shooting deeply within him, curled over him, possessing him as much as he ever would be able to, doing his level best to crawl as far into Ned as was humanly possible.

Utterly wiped out, it took him several minutes to recover enough to stop squashing Ned into the edge of the bar. Ned didn't complain, apparently not having either the breath or the inclination to do so. When Jax finally pulled out and stepped back, he wrapped his arms around Ned and walked them both into his bedroom. He wasn't sure who was more in need of the support, Ned or himself.

By the time they made it into the room, they were both slightly recovered. Ned shoved, just a little, and toppled them both over into the bed. Jax noticed a band of red across Ned's stomach and rubbed his hand over it, gently soothing the angry welt.

"Sorry, mate," he said quietly. Looking over at Ned's face, he had a sneaking feeling he had a grin just as fatuous on his own.

"For fucking me into the middle of next week?" Ned teased.

"For nearly fucking you through the bar. Literally." Jax corrected him.

"S'okay," Ned yawned. "Long as you promise to do it again sometime. Soon."

"With pleasure," Jax assured him, gathering him up close to him and kissing him slowly. Thoroughly.

He didn't know how long the kissing continued, but it wandered, as he explored all the places, front and back, he hadn't had time to reach during the go-round against the bar. Ned responded in kind, with as thorough and erotic an exploration of Jax.

It ended with them top to toe against one another, heads in each other's groins, sucking in rhythm. Their right hands were clasped together between their stomachs, holding tightly, while their left arms were wrapped around one another's flanks, pulling themselves into the tightest human knot they could manage. It was a long, lazy, slow suck, intensifying, then softening, then speeding up again until Jax finally lost control and shot down Ned's throat. His orgasm was immediately followed by Ned's, and he suckled and licked, nuzzled and soothed, until Ned was clean and wet and sleepy.

Feeling much the same way himself, Jax used the last of his strength to pull himself around, snagging the sheet with one hand. Ned snuggled into his arms, and Jax wrapped himself around him, then pulled the sheet up over their shoulders. Ned was asleep in moments. Jax stared at the sunlight glinting off the wavy dark hair and the impossibly long lashes for as long as he could, then gave up the fight and followed Ned into sleep.

The sound of shattering wood and heavy footsteps shook him out of a warm, comforting dream. Jax jerked up, feeling Ned start awake in his arms, and instinctively glanced at the bedside clock. It read 3:44. The bedroom door slammed open and his head jerked up just in time to see three men burst into the room. He heard one of them yell, "Jax!" then he saw, in a split second, that all three men were holding rifles up, ready to fire.

Ned must have seen the same thing, because he screamed "No!" and threw himself between Jax and the gunmen. Jax was already reaching under his pillow for the handgun he kept there, and didn't have time to pull Ned back before their attackers started firing. In a scene direct from his personal version of hell, as if in slow motion, he saw Ned take the first round of bullets, his body flying back against Jax, blanketing him.

Jax must have screamed himself, because he could hear someone yelling over the sound of the gunfire, but he was too busy to worry about it. He yanked the pistol out, flipped the safety off, wrapped one arm around Ned, rolled them both to the floor on the opposite side of the bed against the wall and away from the spray of bullets, steadied his other hand on the edge of the bed and shot back.

Two of the men were down when the other stopped firing and turned to run out the door. Jax realized the burning in his shoulder and the difficulty he was having breathing were because he had been hit, at the same time he realized that not all the blood coating him was Ned's. Feeling the world waver as vertigo hit him, he scrabbled for the telephone and punched in 911. It took him two tries.

He just had time to spit out his address, then "Shooting. Four men down. Help," before his fingers went numb, his mouth disconnected from his brain, and the telephone fell useless from his hand. He could hear the emergency operator's urgent voice, from very far away, but he couldn't do a thing about it. He felt himself fall sideways, draped over Ned's body. Warm blood, too cool flesh. Then the world went dark.

The clock read 3:48.

 

Mac had been on the way back to headquarters from questioning a robbery victim when the call came through over his radio. Just a couple blocks away, mind instinctively calculating minutes, he swerved around the corner. Gunshots, 911 call reporting men down, nobody answering. Then it hit him that he knew that address.

What the hell had Jax gotten himself into now?

Screeching to a stop in front of the building and racing to the elevator, Mac pressed the key for the uppermost floor and silently cursed rich men's innate need to live as far from the unwashed masses as they could reach. From the sound of the report, there wasn't a lot of time for rescue workers to be dicking around waiting for elevators, but if they ran all the way up the stairs to the top of the building they wouldn't be in any shape to carry anyone out. His mental griping took him all the way to the front door of Jax's apartment, but stopped cold when he saw the destroyed door hanging off the splintered frame.

Clicking into full-on cop mode, Mac pulled his gun and entered with swift caution. There was no movement, anywhere, but some traces of blood leading from the bedroom to the front door. So, somebody was wounded and escaped. That would make them easier to track. At the entrance to the bedroom, Mac called, "Port Charles Police!" then swung in low.

He nearly tripped over two bodies, slumped just inside the door. He stopped to check for nonexistent pulses, then a low groan caught his attention. Scanning the room, he noticed the top of Jax's head. Looked like he'd used the bed for a barrier while he was shooting it out with the bad guys. Mac came around the corner, nearly slipping again as he stepped into a widening pool of blood.

Christ on a crutch.

Mac stared for a frozen moment at the tableau before him. Jax was unconscious, draped protectively over the also-unconscious body of Ned Ashton, who from the waxy look of him, had taken quite a hit. Acting again with instinctive speed, Mac knelt beside the men and felt for pulses. They were alive. Barely.

Pulling the sheet from the bed, thankful in a far corner of his mind that Jax wasn't the type to go for satin sheets, he ripped the bedding up and thrust it tight against the wounds he could see that were bleeding the fastest. It was hard to tell amidst the carnage. Concentrating on saving their lives, Mac tried very hard not to think about just what it meant to find Jax and Ashton, stark naked, curled around each other, shot full of holes.

An instant later he heard the rattle of footsteps and equipment in the living room. "Back here!" he yelled. "Two dead, two alive, but not for long if they don't get help!"

EMTs swarmed around him, and he found himself pushed out by extreme competence at extreme speed. In less time than it took to tell, Jax and Ned were unwrapped from one another, field-triage patched, strapped to stretchers and out the door.

The EMTs had come on the heels of the police, who were busily poking around the scene in an orderly, thorough manner. Mac leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. One of his detectives came over to his side. "You okay, boss?" he asked quietly. Mac shook his head.

"Keep me apprised of what you find," he ordered. "I'm going to the hospital." He started toward the door.

"Might want to change first," the detective called after him. Mac looked down at the blood-soaked knees of his trousers, the blood splashed on his hands and shirt, and couldn't help but agree.

This case was going to be a nightmare. But at least they had bodies. That would give them something to go on. And if they were lucky, there would only be two.

He continued to very carefully _not_ think about the ramifications of Jasper Jax and Ned Ashton being naked in bed together at four o'clock in the afternoon. He'd think about it if and when he had to, _if_ it had bearing in the case. Until then ... he wasn't going to think about it at all.

 

Ned was swimming, someplace warm, dark, comfortable. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back into the bright cold. There was something waiting for him there at the periphery of his mind, something ugly and mean and painful. But there was something else, something pulling him back. Something urgent that needed to be done, some urgent question that had to be answered.

The first thing he was aware of, even before he opened his eyes, was how damned much he hurt. Everywhere. It took him a minute, but he'd been shot before, and he knew shortly after becoming aware of the pain just what had caused it. It was bad, but bearable, in large part because he was floating on a sea of drugs. But even with the drugs, he knew it was bad. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, his body felt like it was wrapped up tighter than the Mummy, and he was weak as a day-old kitten.

It took him a long time to work up the strength to actually open his eyes. When he did, there was a face filling most of his field of vision. He tried to shy away, but couldn't move, and the fuzziness resolved into huge brown eyes, a button nose, and three heads' worth of red curls. Bobbie.

Okay, so he was in GH. Again. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened this time, when memory slammed into him with the weight and force of a freight train. Mid-thought his question changed, and he croaked out, "Jax?" The urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

The huge eyes grew impossibly rounder, and he could see her bite her lip. Her hesitation stirred the edge of panic in him, and against the odds, he tried to get up off that damned bed, find Jax and make sure he was alright. The room tilted, and he fell back against the pillows, whispering a shout with all the energy he had left. "Jax!"

Cool hands soothed him, running over his forehead, pushing him gently back into the soft pillows. "He's going to be fine, Ned," Bobbie told him, repeating it when he didn't seem to hear her. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. It had taken her long enough to answer him. He squinted up at her.

She looked completely sincere.

He decided, for the moment, to believe her, and sank back into that welcoming darkness. The most urgent question had been answered. The rest, like what the bloody hell had happened, could wait.

 

Jax awoke with a start, then stilled completely as his rash movement jarred his side, starting a fire that threatened to gut his ribcage. In response, his belly twisted into a knot and he nearly lost anything that might have been left on his stomach. Taking very shallow breaths, trying to reconnect his head to his shoulders, he concentrated on not passing out. Somewhere close by, a throat cleared.

When he could do so without vomiting, he opened his eyes and peered askance at Mac Scorpio, standing next to his bed. He opened his mouth to ask Mac what the bleedin' hell had happened, when it came back to him in a rush. Words came out, but they weren't the words he'd expected to say.

"Is Ned alright?" His throat was scratchy, but the words were perfectly clear. Mac stared at him.

Jax started to lose his temper.

Mac must have noticed, because he started, a visible jolt, then cleared his throat again. "He's going to be okay. Took three bullets, one less than you did, and lost a lot of blood, but he's the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet, next to you. Nothing major hit. Should make a full recovery, once they pump him full of B positive and take the stitches out. You, on the other hand, ended up with one through the shoulder, one that broke two ribs before bouncing back out again, and a broken ankle."

Jax stared down at his foot, barely visible through the haze of pain fogging his eyes. "Shit."

"Yeah, that would about cover it. You want to tell me what the hell went on back there?"

"It's my fault," Jax whispered, eyes unfocused as he remembered the events of the afternoon.

Mac leaned toward him. "How do you figure? Ashton's got his share of enemies, too."

"They yelled my name before they started shooting."

Mac stared intently down at him, then drew out a pad of paper and a pen. "Start at the beginning."

Jax did, although there was pitifully little to tell. He left out no details, but began the narrative when he woke to the attack, and made no effort to leave Ned's name out of it. He made equally little effort to expand on Ned's presence in his bed. Let Scorpio think whatever the hell he wanted. It was none of his business.

Mac stared down at what he'd written when Jax fell silent. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, "Any idea who'd want to kill you?"

"Present company excepted?" Jax asked. Mac just glared at him. Jax attempted a shrug, then gasped and gave that up as a bad deal. It hurt too much to move. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Mac nodded, folded up his pad and stuck it in his pocket. "Maybe we'll get something off the bodies. You got a license for that gun we found wedged in your hand?"

"Yes," Jax answered tersely. "Will there be any problem with the shooting?"

Mac shook his head. "You were stark naked in your bedroom," the first mention he'd made of the circumstances in which Jax and Ned had been found, "with visible signs of forced entry and attack, and the dead men were both armed to the teeth. It's a pretty clear cut case of self defense, I'd think."

Jax nodded, then stared up at Mac. "Thanks," he finally managed to grit out.

"Nothing to thank me for. Just doing my job." With that, Mac turned and walked out the door.

Just do it well, Jax thought at his retreating back. Find out who did this. Stop them before they try it again.

Then he lay back against the pillows, tried to breathe without moving his chest, and worried about Ned.

 

It was four days before Ned was moved from ICU and allowed any visitors outside his immediate family. He didn't want to see any of them, and left instructions with the nurses through Bobbie that he didn't want to see anyone, period. Over the course of that time, he heard Edward's voice raised out in the hall twice, both times cut off when the nurses called security to keep the old man from disturbing the seriously ill patients in the ICU. The only member of the family he saw was Alan, and that was strictly on a professional basis. Alan didn't ask, and Ned didn't offer any details.

He knew the town was afire with rumor. He couldn't bring himself to care. He'd found something, something he hadn't even realized he was looking for. Then it had blown up in his face, literally. He found himself missing it, even though he couldn't articulate, even to himself, precisely what it was he was missing.

When they moved him to a private room, he lost his guard dogs. It didn't take long for Edward to find his way into the room. As soon as he did, the yelling started. Ned didn't say a word, just sat there in bed, fiddled with his IV tube, and let the vitriol roll over his head. As usual when his grandfather was incensed, the hateful words started out hissed, then built to a full-throated roar.

It wasn't like it was anything new, anything he hadn't heard before. How ungrateful he was, how worthless, how much a disgrace to the Quartermaine name. Never mind that he wasn't _named_ Quartermaine. He was a disgrace to the family, a failure, a pervert, a sicko, and that was all there was to it. He hadn't been in bed with Jax because he'd wanted the man -- no, he was there simply and solely to bring disrepute to ELQ and shame on the Quartermaine family and it was all a conspiracy to undermine Edward's authority and get his twisted paramour into ELQ for nefarious reasons and on and on and on.

Eventually, of course, Edward had to stop to drag in a breath. That much invective with that much imagination required a healthy lung capacity. Into the moment of silence in the barrage of irrationality, Ned said, very quietly, "You drove away my wife. All of them. Now you don't like my boyfriend. What do I have to do to satisfy you? Start dating animals? Become a monk?"

Edward, completely speechless at this effrontery, turned on his heel and walked out. That's when Ned noticed Monica standing in the doorway, her expression a perfect blend of horror and unwilling laughter. Ned responded helplessly to the inherent ridiculousness of the situation and started laughing.

Once he got started, unfortunately, he found he couldn't stop. Too soon, the laughter gave way to hiccups, and tears, and he was crying just as hard as he'd been laughing. A stupid thing, really. Ashtons didn't cry.

Quartermaines didn't cry.

He was trying to explain this to Monica, as she sat on the edge of the bed and gathered him up to hold him close, rocking him as if he was a child, running her hand over his hair and patting his back. But he couldn't get the words out. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head in her shoulder, trying to explain the unexplainable.

He was still trying to explain when he fell asleep. He didn't feel her lay him back against the pillows, or pull the blanket over his chest, or smooth his hair back from his face. He didn't see Alan come up behind her, didn't know how long they stood over him, or how they made sure that Edward wouldn't be back in to see him any time soon. He didn't see their pity, or their support.

 

Jax was going stir-crazy. He hated hospitals even on a good day, and he hadn't had one of those since armed thugs had broken into his bedroom and shot the hell out of it and everyone in it. Hadn't had a good day since he hadn't been able to see Ned, to see for himself that the man really was alright. Not that he didn't trust the nurses, but there was nothing like independent verification when it came to the important facts.

A sound at the door broke the circle in which his thoughts were chasing themselves. It was the middle of the night, but he had a police guard, courtesy of Scorpio, until they found out who had tried to kill him. Them. So the visitor had to be a friendly or he'd never have gotten in the door. As the man drew closer to the bed, Jax recognized his brother.

"Jerry," he greeted him with less than great enthusiasm. "Been out of town?" Familial closeness wasn't a given with the Jax brothers, so it didn't really surprise Jax that it had taken this long for Jerry to show. Still, tradition demanded the semblance of irritation. To his surprise, Jerry didn't rise to the bait as usual.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, shocking Jax. "I didn't mean to get you mixed up in all this."

Instantly, rage flared in Jax. It wasn't him, then, who'd been the target. It was Jerry. All this, Ned being hurt so badly, this whole damned mess was Jerry's fault. Before he could either lambaste him or ask him what the hell had happened _this_ time, Jerry turned and snuck back out again.

Jax reached for the phone. Five minutes later, Mac was on Jerry's tail.

 

Going home was almost an anticlimax. Jerry Jax had been caught trying to flee the country, and the dead thugs had been identified as heavies in the employ of a local mobster, for whom Jerry had been laundering money before getting greedy. Now Jerry was in jail pending trial for racketeering, and one of the local mob bosses was in jail awaiting his own trial for conspiracy to commit murder and felonious assault. Ned was relieved that the threat was removed, but other than that, he really couldn't care less. About much of anything.

Jax was still in the hospital, and Ned went by his room after he was discharged, but Jax was sleeping. Ned spent several long moments staring at him, looking alien against the clinical bedding, then slipped back out. Alan met him by the front door.

"Need a ride?" he asked. His voice was completely neutral, but his eyes were almost warm. It was the most approachable he'd looked since he'd found out Monica had paid Ned to have sex with her so many years ago. That trial had been hard on everybody.

"Thanks," Ned offered in return, hesitantly. He was feeling shaky, like he was picking through a minefield, or trying to walk during an earthquake. Thankfully, Alan didn't say much beyond meaningless pleasantries all the way back to the Quartermaine estate. It was ... nice.

AJ was in the living room as they came in the door, but Alan actually glared his son into silence. Ned wasn't sure why he was getting the support, but he wasn't about to question it. Edward came through the foyer as Ned was slowly climbing the stairs. He got as far as opening his mouth when Alan interrupted him, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say with a voice showing more steel than Ned could remember hearing in years.

"Not now, Father."

To Ned's intense surprise, Edward actually listened. Ned did his best to ignore all of them and made his way, step at a time, up to his rooms. All he wanted to do was hide. Not from any feelings of shame. Edward's opinion to the contrary, he had come to the point where he didn't give a tinker's damn what the good citizens of Port Charles thought of him. He'd had something good. He'd lost it. They could say whatever they wanted, but they couldn't cheapen it, any more than they could get it back for him.

Because there was no way on God's green earth that Jax would want to have anything to do with him since they'd been so abruptly, and violently, outed. He'd made it pretty clear by his silence in the hospital -- no attempts to contact Ned, no messages passed through the nurses, no phone calls, nothing. Ned swallowed hard and stared sightlessly through the window at the wide sweep of lawn behind the mansion.

"You don't know what it's got 'til it's gone," he sang softly to himself. Too fucking true. The story of his life, that was.

Distantly, he wondered what it would be like to not only _be_ happy, but to recognize it while it was happening and actually have the ability to _enjoy_ it. Shrugging off the thought as yet another of life's mysteries he wasn't meant to crack, he sat in the corner and stared out at the shadows of the clouds passing over the immaculate grounds below. And tried his very best not to feel anything at all.

 

Five days of wondering if he should make the attempt to rejoin the rat race, and not caring enough to try, later, Ned was still sitting staring out the window. His grandmother, Alan, Emily, Monica, even Reginald had come by to carefully check up on him. Edward didn't. Ned overheard one vintage Quartermaine knock-down drag-out fight, wherein Monica informed Edward that it was, after all, still her house, and if he didn't like her arrangements he was perfectly welcome to go elsewhere, then there was silence from that quarter. It was just as well. Ned didn't feel up to another rampage raining down over his head.

He heard the front bell ring, but didn't bother wondering who it might be. He'd made it quite clear he didn't want to see any visitors, should anyone either care enough or be crass enough to come by. That took Lucy right out. Hard to feed the rumor-mill when the main grist wasn't being cooperative.

The door opened behind him, and he turned, irritated at being interrupted, although he hadn't actually been doing anything. He froze in place as Jax hobbled in the door, leaning heavily on his crutches. Behind him, Ned saw Monica smile at them both, briefly, then shut the door firmly. Ned stared, unable to move, unable to say a word.

Jax took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out in a rush. Ned blinked.

"Sit down before you fall down," he invited. Jax did, making a controlled collapse into the wing chair by the door. "What do **you** have to be sorry for?"

"My brother. My fault." He looked like he believed it, too.

"Bull," Ned responded instantly. Jax cocked his head at him. Ned elaborated. "We do enough stupid things all on our own without taking responsibility for every stupid thing the members of our families do, too. None of this was your fault. It was Jerry's fault. Period." Jax was staring fixedly at him. "What?" he snapped. Jax looked good, here in his rooms, so close to his bed. Too good. Good enough to start believing something might possibly be salvaged here.

"Was it?"

Oh, god, Ned wasn't up to cryptic right then. "Was what, **what**?" he growled. Only sheer force of will, and a healthy fear of rejection, kept him from crossing the room and kissing Jax until neither one of them could form words.

"Us. Stupid."

All the air left Ned's lungs, and breathing was suddenly painful. "No," he finally managed to squeeze out through a throat that felt like it was encased in an iron collar two sizes too small to fit. "That was the only thing about this whole mess that **wasn't**."

Then Ned was on his feet, without thought or will, and found himself kneeling in front of Jax. His hands were warm on Jax's thighs, staring up into deep blue eyes that were staring down at him as if he was a mirage who'd disappear at any moment. Acting on impulse, trusting instinct to save him and hoping this time it would actually work out, Ned asked, "Stay."

"You want me?" Jax asked in return. Ned smiled, the first real smile he could remember giving in a very long time.

"Always."

With their combined track records, he wasn't taking odds on forever. But one way or another, he'd do his damnedest to make that one word into a lifelong promise. Jax smiled back. Reached down. And took his hand.

 

_fin_


End file.
